I appreciated how he understated the truth—that I was terrified of it.
“I want to,” I breathed.
He stared at me, and I felt guilty for the uncertainty on his face.
Heart pounding, I reached for his hand and laced our fingers together. “I’ve trusted you from the start, Sir. I want…” I hesitated, asking myself one last time if I was sure. Yes. Yes, I absolutely was, and though my voice was unsteady, the words came out clearly: “I want to trust myself to do this for you.”
He stared at me. Disbelief, but also wonder. Then he crouched so we were roughly eye level. He touched my cheek as he said, “Are you sure?”
I nodded, my skin breaking out in goose bumps as the motion brushed my cheek against his fingertips. “Yes. For you. For myself.”
Devon searched my eyes. For long seconds, I was sure he was going to tell me we couldn’t do this. Not now. Maybe not at all.
“We can stop any time, right?” I asked.
“Of course,” he said quickly. “Always. Anything.”
I smiled up at him and repeated, “I trust you.”
He chewed his lip. I was again sure the “no” was coming, but he nodded slowly. “You remember the traffic-light safewords, yes?”
“Of course.”
“Okay. If you feel even a little bit anxious—if the claustrophobia sets in at all—say ‘yellow.’” He carded his fingers through my hair. “Even if you’re not sure. Just say it. We’ll pause. We’ll catch our breath. And then when it’s ‘green,’ we’ll continue. Yes?”
I was nodding as he spoke. He’d explained “yellow” more or less the same way before, but this explanation settled some of my nerves. As if he were telling me to make more judicious use of that word this time. To err on the side of using it rather than trying to knuckle through.
I relaxed far more than I thought I was capable with bondage on the table. “Yes, Sir.”
His smile set off fireworks of delight. “Okay.” He rose. “Stand up and move to the end of the bed. Kneel facing the headboard.”
I obeyed, my knee popping as I rose.
Devon eyed me. “Are you all right? Would a different position be more comfortable?”
I considered it. Something told me this would be a protracted scene, especially as he eased me into the thing I’d feared the most. “Maybe standing?”
“Okay. Stand by the footboard, holding the post.”
I could do that, and I did. Devon rifled around in his bag. The distinctive jingle of cuffs made my neck prickle, but I closed my eyes and breathed. I wanted this. I wanted it with him.
Something thudded on the bed, and when I looked, there was a coil of rope beside all the other implements.
“We’ll work up to that,” he said softly. “But only if you want to. It’s there as an option, but I will never make you.”
I nodded, eyeing the rope warily. “Thank you, Sir.”
He held up his hand, the silver cuffs dangling from his outstretched fingers. “Are these all right?”
I watched the light glinting off the metal. Oh yes, I was still nervous about this, but I nodded again anyway. “Yes, Sir.”
“All right. I’m going to cuff you in the front.” He tapped the bedpost. “You’re going to hold on to this, but you won’t be cuffed to it. Understand?”
Cool relief swept through me. “Yes, Sir.”
He closed one of the cuffs around my wrist. “Show me you can use the safety release.”
I did, and with the slightest pressure, the cuff opened. I swore it felt like a hand around my throat letting go. Irrational? Probably. But I could breathe easier now.